Welcome to the club
by Malicean
Summary: Still reeling from the revelations at Bespin – and not exactly reassured by Obi-wan's rationalizations and Yoda's last words and subsequent disappearing act – Luke had entered the coordinates for his first jump away from Dagobah more or less blindly. He had promptly come this close to splattering his X-wing all over the SSD Executor's colossal armored underbelly.
1. Entry

A/N: My muse is a very equal opportunity creature – while Leia had fun in _Vader's Own_, said muse decided to let the baby-brother have a go, too. However, since Luke is a … ahem, much more gentle soul, and therefore wouldn't fit with the same sort of foil as his sister does, another setup had to be found … ;-)

This is an AU story and since I'm already messing with the storyline as such, I have made it so that Luke tells Leia "There is something I need to check out, I'll be back in time to rescue Han" and hops into his X-Wing to Dagobah, as soon as an Alliance doctor pronounces him fit to fly; instead of gallivanting all over the galaxy for a year before they go to rescue Han. I can't see Luke let _that_ sort of existential question hang in the air for a year, let alone the rest of the Jedi training that logically should have come quite handy before that stunt in Jabba's palace… (The Luke at the beginning of ROTJ behaves a lot more Jedi-like than the one at the end of ESB, without any additional training… huh?).

Oh, and what happened _on screen_ in ESB, happened. Deleted / never properly filmed scenes need not apply, no matter what the novelization / EU says …

* * *

On hindsight, it was downright embarrassing.

Still reeling from the revelations at Bespin – and not exactly reassured by Obi-wan's rationalizations and Yoda's last words and subsequent disappearing act – Luke had entered the coordinates for his first jump away from Dagobah more or less blindly. Jumping straight into a sun, accidentally, wasn't much of an issue for those attuned to the Force – however incompletely – and years of commanding hit-and-run attacks against the Empire had ingrained the habit of performing a whole series of random jumps before returning to the Alliance fleet, in any case.

Upon reversion to realspace, however, he had promptly come_ this_ close to splattering his X-wing all over the _SSD_ _Executor_'s colossal armored underbelly. Force-enhanced reflexes and resilience had allowed him to pull up at an impossibly steep angle, his shields stripped away by scraping across the dreadnought's much more powerful ones but otherwise undamaged. Nevertheless, that behemoth of a ship was kilometers wide in any direction – her crew had a leisurely fifteen seconds before he could clear the immediate range of her tractor beams. With his father aware of his presence before Luke could even process the massive wall of durasteel plating suddenly looming in front of him, they had a lock on him in less than ten.

If the Force really _was_ with him, the young Jedi decided, it had a questionable sense of humor.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Given Luke's firm lodging at the top of the Empire's Most Wanted list, the actual arrest was surprisingly civil.

Unwilling to take the risk of significant resistance the tractor beam had dragged him through the range of an ion cannon, leaving his X-wing dead-in-space and his sword hand numb and tingly.

Deposited in the middle of a side hangar set apart from the cavernous main bays – but which could have housed all of Rogue Squadron and then some, regardless – the captured rebel found an entire company of stormtroopers awaiting him. Line upon line of white armor, arrayed in a staggered formation so precise it might have been the honor guard for some visiting dignitary, if not for the ready gun each and every one of them was aiming at his head. Stun-shots, all of them, he was sure, though that didn't give him much more of a choice. A repair hoist pulled the canopy off his disabled fighter, a black-clad commander demanded that Luke left the ship and surrendered his weapons, and that was that.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

_Up and left and up and straight ahead and up and left again… if that's really the shortest way from hangar to sickbay, something has gone very wrong with the design of the ship. Or there's more than one sickbay. Or…,_ the young Jedi reluctantly gave up the useless attempt to distract himself from the coming confrontation.

Anyways, on arrival, a medidroid with the cool but professional politeness of its kind ran him through a standard check-up, fussed a bit due to the amount of unspecified microorganisms he carried with him – Dagobah was teeming with life of _any_ description, if mostly harmless once it got below the eat-you-for-breakfast size – and insisted on a thorough shower, even as it presented him with a clean bill of health. His guards – a full dozen stormtroopers plus the aforementioned commander – weren't too happy to let him leave their sight but could apparently live with having the droid supervise his ablutions when Luke put his foot down on stripping in front of them. Their acquiescence should have warned him, the young Jedi decided afterwards, when he found that the droid had disposed of his _'contaminated'_ flight suit; which left him the choice of facing a Sithlord cum estranged parental figure (to say nothing of the rest of the ship's hundreds of thousands of crewmen) in buff or dressing in a plain black uniform, devoid of any rank markings but very obviously of Imperial design.

The only upshot of the foreign uniform was that the commander was visibly as unhappy to see the notorious rebel wear his own colors as said rebel was himself.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

A surprisingly short walk later, the commander – who had kept stonily silent beyond the most necessary words – gestured him into a room Luke would have called a ready room if not for its impractical distance to the hangars and the distinctively un-lived-in feeling to it. Not a prison cell, certainly – though the young Jedi could feel the multitudes of troops positioned around him – but…some sort of waiting room, perhaps?

A high-class one of whatever it was, he decided on closer inspection of the nearest chair, a deceptively simple but obviously pricey affair of burnished durasteel and black Nerf leather. Surprisingly comfy, too, but Luke had barely settled into the high-backed seat when the solid block of dark, icy fire, that had been grating against the edges of his Force perceptions since the moment he had fallen out of hyperspace, sheared through his carefully erected walls of calmness.

Regarding the swirl of billowing armorweave and the way the overhead lights reflected off gleaming black durasteel under purely aesthetic aspects, gave the young Jedi a few seconds to regain his composure before he had to face the imposing Sithlord as an actual person.

Curiously enough, the black-armored giant seemed hesitant to speak first, too.

"Son," he said finally.

Luke gulped. _But if that was, how Vader wanted to play it…_

"Father," he gave back.

A tension, the young Jedi hadn't realized was there until it receded, fell away and the dark fire withdrew with it until it was an – almost comfortably ignorable – background glow.

"So you have accepted the truth," the deep mechanic voice rumbled.

_No! Never!_ a sharp voice at the back of Luke's mind shrieked. Aloud he said, "I've accepted that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father."

_Wrong thing to say, apparently. _

"That name no longer has any meaning for me!" the Dark Lord snapped, the black flames roaring back into full blaze.

Sympathetically roused passion drowned out any fear the display of power might have enkindled in Luke's mind. "It is the name of your true self! How can I be your son, if you aren't him?"

The dark fire licked towards him as if drawn by the sudden surge of emotion and, abruptly sobered, the young Jedi forced himself to calm down again.

"You've only forgotten," he tried to argue, "I know there is still good in you. The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully. That is why you couldn't destroy me. That's why you won't bring me to your Emperor, now."

"You are my son. You will take your place within the Empire accordingly," was the less than reassuring answer, but at least the encroaching flames backed down, again.

"For now," Vader went on, after a few seconds of tense silence, "you will have unlimited access to every part of this ship – while accompanied by an officer of mine, for …a certain settling-in phase."

_Say again?_ Before Luke could express his opinion of this _generous_ offer, the Sithlord touched a device at his belt and a young man in grey entered swiftly and came sharply to attention beside Lord Vader. Four platelets on his chest made the man a lieutenant if the young Jedi remembered correctly.

"The lieutenant will stay at your side at all times," Vader confirmed, then went on, gesturing at the man though not addressing him, "you may consider him your personal aide – he will answer every question you may have, lead you anywhere you want to go."

"He will also show you how to use this," a squat silver cylinder with a clip attached, like a short, thick pen, was brandished momentarily and handed to the lieutenant for safekeeping. "This code cylinder is authorized for unlimited physical access."

"Including the hangar bays?" Luke asked sarcastically.

"Including the hangar bays, naturally," an irritated mechanic growl gave back.

"Of course," it went on, "his orders are to use all means necessary, excluding those causing permanent harm, to keep you from actually leaving the ship."

_Still doesn't sound like too bad odds, once I've both R2-D2 and my X-Wing back…_

As if to answer his thoughts – though the darkness had kept well out of Luke's head – the Sithlord added, "As you have access to the Force, my son, and he hasn't, it shouldn't be too hard for you to elude him, nonetheless."

The black flames roiled, agitated in a way the young Jedi couldn't quite decipher. There was no mistaking the threat in the following words, though. "In that case, however, I shall hold him responsible for the loss."

A black gauntlet gestured. One of the chairs nearby folded up abruptly, durasteel supports snapping like twigs, one after the other, before the thick, tough leather started tearing down the middle of the high back and kept tearing until there was nothing left but shreds and splinters. The implication, of what the displayed forces would do with far less mechanically resilient flesh and bone, was unmistakable.

The young lieutenant was pale but unsurprised. Either he had been briefed, beforehand, of the potential consequences of his mission, or… _or this sort of behavior was just par for the course for Lord Vader._ Luke really, really hoped, it was the former.

The only practical choice, of course, was to dismiss the threat immediately; what was one more Imperial dead against the literally uncounted ones he had already caused? And yet, the young rebel found himself running smack into one of the main conundrums of war: it was far easier to destroy enemy fighters, little more than blips on the targeting screen, in the do-or-die rush of battle; to deliberately condemn a man, about his own age – _probably not an orphan_, the back of his mind whispered, _he has a family, maybe a girlfriend, somewhere_ – to a slow and horrible death, after looking him in the eye, was quite another thing.

Perhaps expecting more of a reaction, the Sithlord bit out a curt "We will talk more, in the evening," when the awkward pause grew too lengthy, before he whirled suddenly and stalked out of the room.


	2. Introductions

Luke watched him go, stared at the closed door for good measure and finally gave up on avoiding eye-contact with the waiting officer. The lieutenant, who had relaxed minutely at Lord Vader's departure, stiffened again. The young Jedi felt his insides go cold.

_He expects you to act your father's son_, the treacherous voice whispered. With considerable effort, Luke drew the Force around himself and calmed his mind. Then he started walking, in no planned direction, just _away_; the grey-uniformed man fell into step with him, one step behind and to the side. The subservient position grated against the painstakingly erected serenity.

They were halfway down the corridor, before the Imperial dared to ask, "Where to, first, milord? Your quarters or a tour of the ship, milord?"

The deferential title gave Luke the creeps. He stopped and turned towards the lieutenant.

"I'm no lord!" he insisted with some vehemence. "I'm Luke Skywalker. Commander Skywalker, if you must."

"As you wish, m… sir."

An expectant silence fell.

"Well, what about you?"

"Sir?"

"Where I come from, when someone tells you their name, it's considered polite to tell them yours. So, you are…?"

The young Imperial straightened.

"Lieutenant 2nd class, Zevulon Veers, sir!" he reported formally, complete with clicking heels.

"Oh." That was a _heavily_ loaded name, among Alliance soldiers.

"Any relation to the Hoth Veers?" Luke ventured cautiously.

Against all odds, the lieutenant stiffened further. "My father, sir."

"Oh." For a moment, the young rebel saw a monstrous, clawed, durasteel foot plot out blinding white, before he sternly reminded himself, that no one could choose their own relations. "Did he recommend you for this job?"

An odd emotion flitted across the other man's face, too quick to catch it, even with the Force. "I strongly doubt that, sir."

Minimal hesitation, then, "My father and I do not often see eye to eye…"

Luke almost laughed aloud. _Welcome to the club_, he nearly muttered under his breath, before jealousy abruptly reared its ugly head. Whatever petty squabbles they might have, these two were at least _on the same side of the _kriffing_ war! _

He cut across the Imperial's sentence, sharply. "...but even so, he wouldn't throw you to the wolves like that. Lucky me."

The lieutenant recoiled. "That's not what I meant to imply, sir!"

The young Jedi realized belatedly, how potentially deadly an accusation that angry retort must have sounded, from an Imperial point of view, especially from the mouth of Lord Vader's son. The next sentence proved his conclusion wrong, however.

"My father's fiercely loyal to Lord Vader," Veers junior explained, "if he'd received the order to find an escort for his lordship's son, he'd put one of his best men to the job. I'm nowhere even near that list."

There was something deeply tragic about the matter-of-fact way that last sentence was said, Luke thought. "Ouch. I'm sorry."

Lt Veers threw him an odd look.

"Whatever for, sir? My father is a general," he explained slowly, "commanding about 40 000 men, on this ship alone. If he couldn't find someone better than an inexperienced junior lieutenant, that would throw a very poor light, both on his men and his abilities as a commander."

_That's a remarkably clinical way of viewing things._ _Or is it?_ Suddenly aware that he had nothing but childhood fantasies and a handful of brief glimpses of the Darklighter household to compare his relationship with… to compare _any_ real father-and-son interactions with, Luke blurted, "What is he like, your father, I mean?"

_Very_ odd look. "Sir?!"

_Oh well, in for a deci, in for a cred_. "I never had a father all my life. And suddenly, it's Lord-kriffing-Vader, Sithlord and Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces, second-in-command of the Empire. That's a bit hard to stomach. I'm trying to get used to the concept, step-by-step," he confided.

"Oh." For a moment, the young Imperial looked seriously taken aback, but then the tense core of terror at the back of his mind uncoiled, and Luke realized, that he had finally shed his father's shadow and become an actual human being, in the other man's eyes.

Buoyed by that development, the young Jedi managed a crooked smile. "Yeah. Growing up with a father would be the first step, usually, but with your father being who he is, I guess we'll just skip to the second step, that is one in the upper tiers of the Imperial Forces. So, what is he like?"

"Uh,… Strict. Demanding. Pretty much what you'd expect from a man in his position, I guess."

Luke's face fell, despite his best efforts, and the lieutenant frowned.

"He wasn't always like that, you know," he went on, slowly, reminiscent, "I remember, when I was a little kid, he wasn't around much, but when he came home, he spent a lot of time and effort making up for it. I thought, he was the coolest dad ever…"

"What happened?"

"My mother died," Veers said bleakly.

"Sorry. I…"

A pair of senior officers pushed past them, throwing them indignant looks, and Luke suddenly realized that they were still standing in the middle of a long grey corridor.

"Look, is there some place… uh, less in the way? Where we can sit down, perhaps, even?"

The young lieutenant nodded, opened his mouth to reply and suddenly grinned widely. He tapped the code cylinder in his breast pocket. "Oh yeah, I know _just_ the place."


	3. Lounge

_Just the place_ turned out to be about a few dozen decks higher up the ship, and guarded by two different sets of stormtroopers, who each got ready to send them back in no uncertain terms, until Lt Veers brandished the code cylinder, issued by Lord Vader, in an imperious way. Once the thing had its authorization levels checked, however, they saluted.

"Sorry, sirs," the leading one even apologized, "standard procedure, sirs. Won't happen again, sirs."

"Just doing your job, I understand, Sergeant," Veers waved him off, then lead Luke through the heavy, if unobtrusively so, blast doors.

Beyond those… "Whoa! What is this place?!"

"Officer Lounge," the lieutenant explained smugly, "not for the likes of y… of lowly lieutenants like me. You need to be a high-ranking colonel or commander, at minimum, to get in here, usually."

A room the size of a smashball field, the wall opposite the entrance consisted entirely of a gigantic transparisteel window. Even the Bridge – which couldn't be too far off, by Luke's estimation – could hardly offer a more impressive view of the surrounding starfield. The rest of the details filtered in gradually – and rather detracted from the attractiveness of the place, in his opinion, if _not_ the impressiveness. Leia would have felt at home in this sort of surroundings, probably; the former farmboy wasn't even sure, he had the proper vocabulary to describe it. The lush carpet on the floor swallowed the sound of his steps; the walls were lined with what looked like real stone or wood, in places decorated with large paintings, that might have been abstract or possibly landscapes, raging seas perhaps or in one case an erupting volcano; an enormous Imperial crest was inlaid into the ceiling, but otherwise the décor was mostly streamlined geometric forms and masculine colors, understated in an expensive, gentlemanly way. There were tables that wouldn't have looked out of place in a high-level Coruscanti restaurant; a long, truly impressively stocked bar off at one side; armchairs, looking rather comfortable for all their sleek lines, arrayed in small groups along the long window, some with low tables between them, some without. Gentle, unobtrusive instrumentals played in the background.

Lt Veers led the way towards some seats near the edge of the window, still grinning. "Something to drink, against the shock?"

Luke nodded mutely and the other raised a hand in a clearly beckoning way. A crewman in a parade-perfect uniform was at his elbow immediately.

"Order whatever you like, chances are, they have it," the lieutenant told the shell-shocked Jedi.

For a moment, the young rebel was tempted to order the most outrageous drink, he had ever heard Han boast about, but then common sense won out and he decided against anything strongly alcoholic. But if the offer was really as all-encompassing… there was something he had missed since leaving home. "Tatooine milk."

Veers threw him a funny look, the steward, however, merely answered, "Certainly, sir. Hot or cold, sir?"

"Uh, cold, real cold, please."

"Of course, sir. And for you, sir?"

The question shook the lieutenant out of studying the young Jedi. "Kinnie, ice-cold."

The steward confirmed that order, too, and had two long-drink glasses on the low table before them, within a minute. Part of that speed might have been the fact that they seemed to be the only guests, at this time of the day – around 1030, Coruscanti time – part was simply… whoa!

The Tatooine native stared at the perspiration beading on the sides of his glass for a moment, then grabbed onto the homely beverage with determination. The two young men clinked glasses, then each took a deep swallow of their respective drinks. The milk tasted just how Luke remembered it: slightly tangy, with a thick, almost creamy texture – and nothing like the watery stuff that had given blue milk its proverbial ubiquity.

"So, … look, I don't mean to pry …" "So, you still want to hear …"

They both started to speak almost simultaneously. The young Jedi recovered more quickly. "Yes, please, go on."

"Yeah, so… Well, on hindsight, throwing himself into his work was just the way my father coped with the pain, I guess. That, and he probably had no idea how to deal with a troubled child, all on his own. So he put me into the nearest SAGroup."

Luke's face must have gone blank, for the younger Veers went on to explain, "Uh, the Imperial Youth; come on, everybody knows them…"

The young rebel waved a hand sarcastically. "Outer Rim farmboy, here. Never even heard of it."

"Wow. That's… oh damn it. I wish… Well, I hated it there. By the time I was fifteen, I could have killed someone to get out. I… By that time, my father had just been promoted to colonel, by Lord Vader himself, and I tried to milk that little piece of fame to get myself into officer training early, at sixteen. The group leader was all for it, but, of course, he contacted my father about it. That led to our first big row."

The young man grimaced at the memory. "You see, if there's something my father really hates, it's the sort of highborn idiots, who use their father's names instead of any real skills to gain whatever position they want. So he was furious, I was desperate and things escalated from there – we nearly came to blows. In fact, in the end I threw something about my mother's death at him and he lashed out in reaction."

Veers junior shrugged. "He's _still_ broader than me, and then I was just a lanky teenager, that hadn't reached his full growth yet. That backhand took me off my feet. Shocked us both out of it, I think – my father had never hit me before, you know. We talked somewhat civilly, afterwards, and he promised to write me a letter of recommendation, if – and only if! – I managed to make it through the enhanced entrance test at first try."

The young Imperial raised his glass in a mock toast. "I count that as the first, last and only time I ever won an argument against him."

Then the lieutenant tried another grin. "I swear, there has never been a more motivated pupil than me, that year. Long story short, I made it, got through junior officer training – with flying colors, even – and then committed the ultimate sin of bad taste, by applying for a Navy posting. Cue second fight.

That one started oddly civil – I mean, I was a cadet, he was a colonel and we both had this deeply ingrained reaction to each other's uniform… I think, the very fact, that I didn't just follow his orders unquestioningly, took him by surprise, at first. It's… he just had this vision in his head, about how my life was going to pan out, and instead of telling me about it – or, _Stars forbid,_ even asking for my input! – he just exploded when I didn't play by his script. You know, what I mean?"

"Welcome to the club," Luke murmured. Whoever had chosen the young man to be his aide/guard/companion/whatever…, had, on purpose or by accident, made an astoundingly appropriate match. Deep in thought about the implications of this epiphany, he let the rest of the words run over him.

"Uh, … yeah. _You_'d probably know." Awkward pause. "Well, COPNOR was a compromise we both hated, but it was the best I could get, I thought at the time, if I wanted to get out of my father's shadow…"

"Who chose you?" the young Jedi interrupted finally.

"Uh, what?"

"Whoever put you to the post, has selected someone I could remarkably well relate to. I need to know if that was sheer dumb luck or something else. I mean, the only thing that would fit even better, is if you'd joined the rebels, too…"

The young Imperial froze and Luke petered off. "You didn't…"

The young rebel whistled tonelessly. Cleared his throat, while the other man's eyes flicked, nervously, all over the place. "Well, obviously, you didn't."

In an undertone he added, "What happened?"

Veers licked his lips, apprehensively. His next words came out in a barely audible murmur. "COPNOR is supposed to be the glorious spearhead of the Empire. It's not. It's the serrated blade jabbed into the soft underbelly of things, more like. I'm not sure, my father knew, just how nasty they were, when he proposed them. I lasted two months, before I started to look for a way out – other than the business end of my service blaster, I mean, though even that looked damn tempting, at times. Another six, before I had a contact to the point where they trusted me."

The lieutenant fell silent, lost in bleak memories.

Luke was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. "What happened?" he repeated.

Veers junior grinned humorlessly. "Hoth happened. I was days away from jumping ship, at most, when my liaison gave me the friendly advice that I'd better keep mum about my relation to the _"Butcher of Hoth"_, once I'd joined the rebels."

Luke winced. Hoth had been the most costly battle for the Alliance to date; pinned and forced into open battle, instead of their usual hit-and-run tactics, the rebels had lost and lost hard. Taking advantage of the situation, General Veers had earned himself the dubious distinction of being responsible for more dead rebels than any other single commander, except for Lord Vader himself. When Imperial propaganda had gone crazy around the _"HERO OF HOTH",_ anti-Imperial propaganda had quickly followed suit. While the former got to parade the actual general around – whose expression had become more and more stony with each recorder thrust into his face by interview-hungry reporters – the latter had gone… viciously creative. Not the proudest moment of the Alliance, on hindsight.

"That's when I realized that rebel propaganda was playing as fast and loose with the facts as the Empire's did, and if both sides were lying, then I could just as well keep the oath I'd taken and stay where I was, trying to do what I could, there."

"How did you know, it was a lie?" The question was out, before the young Jedi had thought it through, fueled by sheer wishful thinking._ How does a person know, that there's good in their father, when common opinion points to the opposite…?_

"There wasn't any civilian populace on Hoth," the younger Veers said simply, "and killing as many enemy combatants in battle as possible doesn't make you a butcher, it makes you a successful general."

There was little that could be said about that.

Trying to fill the resultant awkward pause, the lieutenant hurried through the rest of the story. "Well, this time I _did_ cash in on the family name's fame and glory and finagled myself a posting in Navy Intelligence. Only a short while later – or about a month ago – I was suddenly reassigned to this ship. I have spoken … about a dozen, rather frosty words with my father, since then – all that _'joined _the Navy_ behind my back'_ stuff…. "

The grimace, the other man wore, reminded Luke, oddly enough, of Uncle Owen. That sounded pretty much how his uncle might have reacted, if Luke had run off to the Academy…. He shook himself out of the memories.

"Alright, back to the topic. Do you know, who put your name on the list?"

Veers shook his head. "No. I expected it to be someone trying to destroy my father."

"Destroy y… what are you talking about?!"

"As I said, my father's fiercely loyal to Lord Vader. And Lord Vader is a man of his word. If you run, he'll kill me – and my father would just stand by and watch. He would stand by and watch, and then he would go to his quarters and shoot himself. The conflicting loyalties would tear him apart – I'm his son, after all. I like to think he cares, but at the very least, family ties are like the ultimate form of responsibility – and if there's one thing, that can be said about my father, it's that he takes his responsibilities very, _very_ serious. "

_I like to think he cares…._ "Welcome to the club," Luke murmured, again.


	4. Tour

They finished their glasses, Lt Veers pointed out a few more details of the Lounge that scuttlebutt was running wild about (the bar top, for example – allegedly cut from a single piece of flawless Alderaani mooncloud marble; a flamboyant piece of luxury at the time of its commission, it was now a literally priceless treasure, since the quarry that had yielded it (and the adjacent planet) had gone out of business forever), and then they decided to have some of the promised tour, after all. Luke considered it a great victory for his trust-building efforts, when the lieutenant didn't flinch, when the young rebel asked for a quick look into the hangars, first.

By compromise, Luke opted for an overall look from one of the walkways near the ceiling of the cavernous hangar bays. Apart from setting his guide more at ease, it also put them almost level with the topmost TIE-fighters hanging from their racks; and the chance, to study the actual crafts up close, for more than the split-second, it took to cork-screw past them, wasn't one the young pilot was going to miss.

His first question, about some detail he had noticed, had the lieutenant bite his lips, before answering, but answer he did, truthfully if a bit shortly. Luke couldn't really fault him – he would have been a tad reluctant, too, to explain his X-wing to an Imperial.

"Do you fly, too?" was a somewhat safer subject.

"I passed the obligatory courses at the Academy," Veers gave back curtly, then shrugged and grinned self- deprecatingly. "Apparently, my talent lies more with steering … bigger ships. Capital ships, I mean."

He eyed the young rebel with open curiosity – and just a tiny bit of challenge.

"Have you ever tried your hand with anything bigger than …" the young Imperial waved towards the racks of fighters, "… a hunting fly?"

Luke grinned back. This was familiar territory – the old, (more or less) friendly rivalry between fighter pilots and their carriers.

"Why would I even want to? Accelerates like a brick, turns slower that a comet …"

"Shrugs off hits that would evaporate your little gnat," the other man countered, with the supremely unimpressed look of helmsmen – as opposed to pilots – everywhere, "firepower enough to accomplish the same, fuel and consumables for two years, and, above all, room for more than one person …"

They passed along several hangar bays, in amiable banter, until they stepped through another blast door and found themselves no longer the only spectators on that particular gallery.

The way his companion suddenly stiffened, Luke was pretty sure of the tall man's identity, even before the senior officer had turned far enough towards them to recognize the face and/or rank bar. General Veers' eyes slid past the lieutenant as if he wasn't there, to settle on the young rebel with a look of icy disdain.

_Hoth nights were colder,_ Luke could attest, from personal experience, _but not by much_.

The younger Veers cleared his throat, nervously. "Sir, may I introduce…"

"I know who he is." The tone was, if anything, even frostier. "Looking for something in particular, Skywalker, or just enjoying the tour?"

"Just the tour… General." The young Jedi barely kept himself from calling the older man _sir_, in instinctive reaction to the other's commanding presence. There had been no discernible recognition, so far, if some raised eye-brows towards his unmarked uniform, so the elder Veers would do as a gauge, for what the upper ranks aboard had been told. There was a double meaning to Luke's question of, "You know, who I am?"

"I would be remiss in my duties, if I did not." Cold eyes ran all over the young rebel and Luke got the distinct impression that he had come up short – pun fully intended.

"I hope, you are worth the expenses, Skywalker," the general went on, turning back to the hangar below in a clearly dismissive way.

But that sort of loose end the young Jedi didn't intend to leave dangling. "What expenses?"

For a moment the elder Veers seemed intent on ignoring him completely, before a grudging explanation was thrown over a grey-clad shoulder. "Lord Vader has spent plenty of men – and whole ships – to assure your presence here, today."

Black filaments whipped out of nowhere and wrapped around the general, hips to throat, like a tangle of starving vine snakes. It took some rapid blinking, for Luke to realize, that there was nothing he could actually **_see_**, except for the man's suddenly unnaturally stiff posture.

"And I consider those expenses well spent!" a mechanic baritone thundered. "Are we clear, General?"

There was no space for the general's ribcage to expand into, to draw in enough breath for a verbal answer – in fact, the young rebel was pretty sure, he could see the ribs cave_ inwards_ where the arms were pinned against them – but the man managed a sharp nod.

"Good." The crushing grip dissolved. "Dismissed."

Released, Gen. Veers sagged, caught himself against the balustrade and forced himself back to his feet by sheer willpower.

"Milord," he got out through clenched teeth, before that same iron willpower made him walk away with barely a wobble to his steps.

Lt Veers made an abortive move to follow him, before a sharp "Not you, Lieutenant, you'll stay at my son's side at all times!" stopped him short.

The callous order made something unexpected snap within Luke. "Is this how you are going to treat every man willing to remember that I'm still part of the Alliance, _Father_? If so, can we go to the Bridge, next? If you keep this up, I'll have this ship gutted from the inside before the day is over!"

"You need to learn to listen better, Son," the deep mechanic voice rumbled.

An incorporeal grip plucked the code cylinder from the breast pocket it had been resting in. "I told you, _this_ would give you access to the entire ship. That includes life support controls or the main reactors. If you truly intend to cause as much destruction as you can, I propose you start there."

"What?! But… Why?"

"You are my son. This ship, indeed the entire galaxy, means nothing to me, compared to my family."

The black gauntlet tossed the innocuous little device back – the young Jedi nearly fumbled the catch, caught between awe and horror of the thing, as he was.

The vocoder produced an odd sound that might have been, charitably, interpreted as a huff. "Do. Pay. Attention. Son! That's three hundred thousand lives, at your fingertips. Try not to lose them!"

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Mercifully, the Force – or some other cosmic power with a more reasonable sense of timing – had the Sithlord summoned elsewhere, before anything even more disastrous could happen.

More disastrous being, for that matter, something worse than the fact that their little row had had witnesses – and the word spread, at something close to exceeding hyperspeed.

There were whispers, hastily stopped at Luke's approach; there were people visibly deviating from their previous course to get out of his way; there was the drippy deference and accompanying clammy feeling of fear oozing from the men that, for whatever reason, could not avoid crossing the young rebel's path. It was enough to take any remaining sense of enjoyment out of the prospect of touring the crown jewel of the Imperial fleets.

The younger Veers seemed relieved, too, when Luke asked for the quickest way to his assigned quarters – more spacious luxury, a whole suit of rooms that could (and would have, on one of the crammed-for-space rebel ships) have housed a whole squadron, including ground crew.

When the young Jedi tried to relieve him of his duties, however, going as far as to bluntly suggest checking up on the lieutenant's father, the young Imperial's face grew shuttered.

"You heard his lordship," he said guardedly, "I'm to _stay at your side at all times_."

Under the circumstances, Luke didn't have the heart to argue too much.


	5. Clarification

Forced idleness didn't sit well with the former farmboy, though. Never had, actually, and twiddling his thumbs on Lord Vader's flagship, of all places, was slowly but surely driving Luke up the wall with anticipation and foreboding.

He picked with little appetite at something called a lunch – he couldn't have said, afterwards, what had been on his plate, but presumably food. He flipped with little enthusiasm through the ship's internal database – his interest piqued for a moment by the intricacies of her schematics, before the memory, of why he had access to that level of information and what he was all but expected to do with such knowledge, made him turn away, the assumed food suddenly leaden in his stomach.

Meditation was straight out – it was hard enough, to ignore the nearby Sithlord while focusing on the material world; to open himself to the Force, in a place so thoroughly soaked with the other's presence for years, was a surefire way to invite trouble.

A short struggle with his conscience later, the young Jedi decided to be selective in taking Lord Vader by his word. Manipulating doors by the Force was especially easy, when their locks were designed to react only to Its touch. Once outside, Luke gathered the Force around him, both to let it guide him where he needed to go, and to dispel people's attention from his person, while he did a little... uh, reconnaissance, on the side.

While the former worked out well enough, the latter didn't end pretty – truly, dropping his own name into other people's minds via suggestion and eavesdropping to their resultant chatter, held its own punishment. The young Jedi found that, in a way, he was considered a threat worse than Lord Vader himself: the Sithlord was a menace, for sure, but before Luke had entered the game, he'd mostly been a predictable menace. People had learned how to take his lordship – and how to dodge his more lethal moods – and some had even acquired something like a decent working relationship.

Then someone had gone and blown up the Death Star, and once Lord Vader had found out the name of that particularly lucky enemy ace, the fragile balance had shattered. As had bulkheads. And bones. And whole ships…

The general had not been using hyperbole, the young Jedi realized with a chill; if anything, he had downplayed things.

The lump of metal in his breast pocket went heavier and heavier with every step.

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He had been intending to retreat to his rooms, when he found himself in an area that obviously held officer quarters, but was nonetheless decks away from the place he'd been aiming for. He was marching towards the nearest turbo-lift, intent to redress the error, when something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He all but skidded to a stop. Walked back a few paces. Reread the name plaque attached to the nearest door.

Vev, double esk, resh, senth.

_No rest for the wicked, huh?_ Luke asked the universe in general, but if the Force insisted…? Today wasn't a day to ignore Its directions, It might get … creative, otherwise.

With a deep, steadying breath, he pressed his hand against the door opener. The door slid aside noiselessly – _would have been too easy, to simply find it locked, wouldn't it?_ – and he found himself in a sort of antechamber. An aide's desk sat deserted, for the moment, the computer on it idling. With another deep breath, the young rebel knocked at the door opposite the entrance.

Upon receiving a sharp "Come in!", he did so.

The general was sitting at a large desk, well-ordered in principle but overflowing with paperwork. The jacket of his uniform was hanging half open, the white shirt beneath it not as smooth a fit as it should have been.

_Bacta-wraps stabilizing cracked ribs,_ Luke surmised, drawing on personal experience – _though, why had the man not simply stayed in a bacta tank until fully healed? It wasn't as if the Empire (and Lord Vader's flagship to boot) had to ration the stuff…._

The nasty voice at the back of his head, that hadn't stopped second-guessing things since he'd put the first reluctant boot on the deck of the super star destroyer, immediately started speculating: _Impatience might be a reason_, the young rebel knew a few people in command positions that made terrible patients; and a general was possibly high enough up the food chain to bully even a doctor into submission, unless literally laid low. _Extra-punishment_ was a more sinister interpretation of the shortened treatment, either self-inflicted – _fiercely loyal to Lord Vader_, the back of his mind provided, _who knows how he deals with disappointing his lord?_ – or enforced from … _higher up_.

Luke shook off the idle thoughts, just in time to see the older man look up from the report, he'd been currently perusing.

The young Jedi caught a split-second of surprise in the hazel eyes, then they flicked past him, growing considerably darker – _oops, should have known, the man would be well informed about **all** the details of my stay here _– and finally settled into cold flint.

"What now, Skywalker?" Gen. Veers asked frostily.

"He's safe," Luke gave back, waving vaguely over his shoulder, "probably frustrated but safe, back at my quarters."

As reassurances went, that one seemed to backfire, badly. For a moment, the elder Veers went very, very still.

The older man had very good natural shields, the young Jedi decided, catching only traces of fear and pain, and then more – this time: physical –pain when the man squared his shoulders to face the perceived threat.

None of the feelings showed on the general's face, when he asked, harshly, "What did you do, knock him out and tie him up?"

_What? No! _"I did nothing of the kind! I had very good reasons…"

"Hardly better than a direct order from the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces," Veers countered.

_Too true._ "The Force…," Luke started to explain, before a surge of utter loathing hit him like tidal wave and he petered off, in shock.

He could all but read the words _Mind rape!,_ spelled out in bright red letters above the general's head. The young Jedi swallowed. If this was, how a majority of the galaxy thought about the Force, no wonder that they had stood by and watched, at the Jedi Order's extermination….

"If you'd just let me finish my sentence before you condemn me?!" he snapped in frustration. "The Force is the only way to open the doors to my quarters, and it makes for a rather good distraction, too. He's safe, probably pretty mad at me, but safe and unharmed!"

For a moment, both men simply glared at each other, before the older one relaxed, minutely. Leaning back in his seat, he dismissed the previous topic with a sharp nod of his head.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Skywalker," he prompted.

Luke fished the code cylinder from his pocket and placed it carefully on top of the desk. "My father called this: _'Three hundred thousand lives, at my fingertips'_. Why would he do that?"

Veers raised an eyebrow. "That is a question you should ask him."

"I already did. He said: _because you are my son_. That's not overly enlightening."

For long seconds, the general studied the young rebel in silence.

"Why do you come to me, Skywalker, with such a question?" he asked finally.

"Because I can be reasonably sure to get an honest answer, not whatever you think, I might want to hear," Luke answered with blunt directness. "Even now, when you … know the price for such antagonism – and I'm sure, it would be worse for a repeat offense – you make no secret of the fact that you detest me. You stick to your opinions without regard of what I might tell my father…. "

Veers made a sharp noise, like an aborted bark of laughter.

"No," he said with conviction, "Lord Vader fights his own battles. If you are in any way like your father, Skywalker, you won't go running for Daddy."

Leaning carefully across the desk, the general picked up the code cylinder and turned it over in his hands.

"A sort of hostage exchange," he said slowly, addressing the ominous piece of metal. "No matter what you might have heard, but this ship – and even the men aboard her – mean a lot to Lord Vader. So, to offset whatever risk you take by staying here, he's put the most valuable thing he could into your hands, in exchange …."

Luke swallowed heavily._ The most valuable thing … means nothing to me, compared to my family … _

* * *

A/N: _Hostage_ has such a nasty ring to it, these days – it's easy to forget that, once upon a time, it was something that could be given, too, as a token of good faith (or even exchanged for mutual reassurance), instead of being taken by force. If given voluntarily, the recipient is known as the _host_…


	6. Gathering

Following his explanation, the general had handed back the code cylinder without overt signs of reluctance. Shoving the jumbled mess of feelings, concerning the innocuous little device, its meaning and its donor, into a mental box of _'worry about later'_, the young Jedi decided to take advantage of the momentary lack of hostility.

"Who exactly chose your son to be my… aide?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he dared.

Not nonchalantly enough, apparently. Veers' eyes instantly went back to flint.

"Why do you ask?" he threw back, voice sharp and calculating.

And that was the general talking, Luke realized, the sort of tactician that had all but pulverized the Alliance defenses on Hoth. And, as much as it galled the young rebel, it was exactly what he needed, right now, to get to the bottom of things.

"Because he's as close an equivalent to myself as can be, under the circumstances – and I thought that was worrying enough, that someone would know me so well that they could find such a good match. But then I was made to realize, that he is also the perfect tool to drive a wedge, probably a deadly one, between my father and his best general. And that means – unless an incredible amount of sheer dumb luck was involved – someone's trying to play all sides against the middle."

The young Jedi shrugged. "I have learned not to believe in luck when it's too convenient."

The corners of Gen. Veers mouth twitched.

"How… wise," he commented sarcastically. Then any trace of humor vanished from his face and he activated the com set into his desk. "Trelaine, find me the admiral."

Someone, the previously absent aide, presumably, acknowledged the order, and the general settled back to wait.

"The admiral?" Luke prompted, curiously.

"The admiral," Veers confirmed cryptically, then relented and explained. "He was the Captain long enough, that she still considers him as such. Whatever happens on this ship, if _he_ asks her nicely, the _Lady_ will tell him about it."

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The admiral turned out to be a man about his own height, a pleasant change after all those overgrown generals and Sithlords around.

He gave Luke a wary sort-of nod that almost counted as a bow and threw Veers a pointed look of censure aimed at the bandaged ribs. The latter waved off the concern and said, "I need some sensitive information to _stay_ sensitive, including words spoken in this room within the last fifteen minutes. Could you arrange that, Firmus?"

The admiral – _Piett, if their last intel was still correct, not necessarily a given, at the rate Lord Vader went through his admirals_ – raised an eyebrow and then rolled his eyes. Or, at least, looked at the ceiling, while saying, "Lady, could you give us some privacy, please?"

Luke felt his hairs stand on edge when a wave of static energy washed over the room, the terminal set into the general's desk shutting down abruptly. From the corners of his eyes, he caught Veers shake out his hand where he'd obviously touched something conductive during the energy wave.

"Now," the admiral said pleasantly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "will someone please explain to me, what sort of conspiracy I've just become a part of?"

As an aside to Luke he added, "It is, of course, traditional for a crown prince to be involved in intrigues, but for someone who's just come to the fore a few hours ago … you're certainly quick, Skywalker."

Luke almost sputtered at "crown prince", but was spared an answer when Veers started to apologize. "I'm sorry for dragging y…"

Piett cut across the taller man's words with unexpected sharpness. "Don't bother to finish that sentence, Max, or I shall feel deeply insulted that you'd think you could drag me anywhere I do not wish to go."

The general shut his mouth with a click of teeth and the admiral nodded, satisfied.

"My explanation, please?" he prompted.

Veers growled "Skywalker," and the young rebel resignedly went to repeat his suspicions.

"Can you find out who initiated the transfer papers for my son?" the general asked afterwards.

The admiral looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Lady," he said then, apparently to the room at large, "where were the transfer papers for Lt. 2nd class, Z. M. Veers, set up initially?"

Luke didn't know what exactly he'd been expecting, but the tactical display in the center of the table springing to life, was a bit anti-climactic. A star map was spinning slowly in the holographic projection, with one of the solar systems highlighted briefly, before the display zoomed in.

Even fresh from Tatooine, the young pilot would have recognized the system. "Coruscant."

The admiral nodded. "The Admiralty complex, to be precise, and, if I'm not mistaken: Navy intelligence."

That didn't look very helpful an information, to the young rebel. The two older men, however, exchanged a significant look.

"What is it?" Luke asked tersely.

Another telling look was exchanged.

"It's not what is there, it's what isn't," Veers said slowly, "or rather, who. Neither the _Lady_, nor Lord Vader were anywhere near Imperial Center at that point. So it wasn't a request from this side."

_So it wasn't Lord Vader not thinking things through, or, at least, only from a terribly skewed point of view_. That was a relief, Luke guessed. It certainly was for the general.

The next words from said general, paid put to any feelings of relief, though. "His lordship must hear of this."

In his desperation, to avoid another meeting anytime soon, the young Jedi cast about pretty wildly. "Wait! How do you know, that m…, V…, Lord Vader didn't just send them a message, with orders to transfer the lieutenant?"

Veers shot him a fierce glare, but Piett beat the larger man to the answer.

"A message sent through the proper channels would have started the transfer process from here. But, of course, proper procedure does not necessarily apply to your father," the admiral said, contemplatively. "Lady, in the… week preceding the induction of the transfer, were there any communications that Lord Vader _personally_ initiated or received?"

The furious glare swiveled towards the Navy man and was blithely ignored, when the display switched to a set of different dates and times, each followed by a cryptic string of letters and numerals.

Piett nodded, satisfied. "Those are all messages on the internal com system of the ship," he explained, "nothing that would have disrupted the normal bureaucratic order of the transfer process."

Dejected, but not ready to give up, yet, Luke tried another track. "Uh, Lady, can you find out who assigned Lt Veers as my aide? And if the answer to that is: _Lord Vader, obviously_; was there a list of candidates beforehand, that someone else assembled, or something?"

Nothing happened.

Well, except for Gen. Veers giving a short laugh. "Forget it, Skywalker. The_ Lady_ doesn't just talk to anyone. You need to earn that privilege, and so far, I suspect, only two people have managed to do that."

The tall man looked at his Navy equivalent. "But the questions aren't that stupid. Firmus, if you would?"

Piett nodded, but before he could make any verbal requests, the display changed again.

This time, one of the data sets bore the header _Reassignment Order _and was identified by the two Imperial officers as being signed by one of Lord Vader's aides. It had – effective this day! – sent the younger Veers from his previous station aboard,_ Communications_, to a _'temporary duty'_ of unspecified length and location.

Another piece of data was the requested list. The young Jedi recognized exactly one name in about a dozen.

On a second reading, he caught on to something else, though. His life had been so far from well-planned and structured, lately, that he'd lost track of the date a bit, but the timestamp on the list ... _That list had been around since just after Bespin, weeks in advance of their current encounter!?_

He said so aloud and had both Imperials throw him an unimpressed look.

"Yes. Irrespective of what you might have heard, Lord Vader is quite capable of planning ahead," Gen. Veers told him acerbically.

The young rebel rolled his eyes for real.

"Do tell," he muttered under his breath, before he said, more loudly, "That's not the point! I still see nothing that tells me whose idea that list was; so can we please do that communications check again? To see, if whoever started the list, did so right after Lord Vader spoke to him, or something?"

There was a fair amount of humor-the-youngster in the air, when Piett said "Lady, the same request as before, starting with the setup date of the list."

The irritating feeling held until the next cryptic list of communications headers appeared. To Luke's untrained eyes, it looked indiscernible from the last. Nonetheless, the admiral went pale.

_Uh-oh._

A quick look at the general showed the man schooling his features into a stony mask of resolve – the sort, a man facing a firing squad, might wear.

_Double uh-oh!_

"Lady," Piett said, swallowed convulsively and went on, sounding almost pleadingly, "dismiss the internal messages. Was there anything mentioned in the external communication that might relate to Lt Veers?"

The sound system sprang to life, too. Short snippets of a conversation started playing

_"young", "guide", "show", _all in his father's distinct mechanic baritone.

_"loyal", "a member of your crew", "devoted",_ that was another voice, scratchy with_… age_ (_possibly?),_ and with an odd cadence to it. He ought to know that voice, the young Jedi was sure, somehow – and yet he wished, to never hear it again. The Force was all but screaming in warning at the sound.


	7. Convergence

The voices went back and forth for a bit, but after the initial batch of keywords, the connection quickly became more than arbitrary and the sound dwindled away. Warily, Luke threw a look at the two older men – and if he was taking in more than just visuals, well, so be it!

Piett wasn't exactly leaning against the wall, but he was obviously striving to keep himself grounded, by means of the hand splayed against the bulkhead. Gen Veers, for all that he'd kept his expression unyielding, looked like it was a good thing, he was already sitting down.

Worse, however, was the oppressive mood hanging, like a thick miasma, over the room: the last time, the young Jedi had felt its like, he'd been skimming past the trenches on Hoth – trenches filled with Alliance soldiers who had already known (as he'd realized on hindsight) that there was little chance, for even one in ten of them, to make it out alive.

Mood and memory threatened to suffocate him for a moment, but with a concentrated effort, Luke forced them back, cleared his mind and finally his throat.

"What exactly did just happen?"

Piett blinked. "You don't … you didn't recognize the voice?" he asked incredulously.

The young rebel shrugged. _Vaguely, but I can't quite put a name to it,_ sounded a bit inane.

"That," – _you idiot!_ the tone implied, "was His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Palpatine," Gen Veers cut in.

_The Emperor?!_ The young Jedi almost physically fell over, in his surprise.

But, suddenly, hitherto unconnected puzzle pieces were falling into place:

_The Emperor, he has foreseen this_, his father had said during their duel – Lt Veers' transfer papers for the _Executor_ had been initiated, before Luke had even left Dagobah enroute for Bespin, but what should hinder someone prescient from moving another pawn into position early?

_Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy_ – he might be an Outer Rim yokel with a hearty dislike for politics, but even a former farmboy could tell, why said prescient ruler of the galaxy would find it advantageous, to destroy any loyal (and perhaps even, _any competent_) followers his father might have gathered among the highest ranks of the military.

Add the uncanny precision of the match – _some five decades or so of experience in political maneuverings ought to do that_; and the, well, _unexpected_ change of approach by his father, and Luke felt his skin crawling with the certainty of having played right by the Emperor's script.

The only thought, that kept him from bolting there and then, was_ how much does my father know about this?_

_And what will happen, when he knows it all? _was a thought more inclined to send him running, but this time, the young rebel simply set his jaw and offered no further protest when a tense admiral asked his ship to locate the resident Sithlord for him.

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Lord Vader, as it happened, was currently situated on the Bridge. Given the likelihood of listeners on the Emperor's payroll, in such a public venue, it was grudgingly decided, to wait for a more opportune moment to approach him, namely the already scheduled meeting with the admiral in the early evening.

To further dispel suspicion, the unlikely trio dispersed, each to his usual haunts and occupations. It wasn't until he'd slunk past the sharp-faced Army captain in the antechamber, hidden behind the Force and the admiral's shadow, that it occurred to Luke to ask a question, he should have asked a lot earlier.

He hastened to catch up with Piett, before the latter could get out of reach – and apparently the older man could guess why he'd do so. Static washed over a (momentarily deserted) piece of corridor.

"Just to get this straight, Admiral," the young Jedi said rapidly, not sure how long the anti-surveillance measures – and the lack of eyewitnesses – would keep, "you can listen in, on a private conversation between _the Emperor_ and _Lord Vader_? Aren't there, like, security systems against that sort of thing?!"

Thin lips quirked. "**_I_** can't. But _she_ is the ship – all those security procedures, it is _her_ who executes them. Not that it matters, in this case. If I'm not mistaken, that was raw data from the sound system in the holo transceivers in Lord Vader's communications chamber, both speaker output and input from the mics. Raw data meaning unprocessed, even by the encryption algorithms."

_Somehow, I don't think eavesdropping in my father's private rooms is going to go over any better._ "As long as you can get at the data, the rest is just semantics. I don't think anyone would bother to look on that sort of details, if the whole thing gets out…"

The admiral returned his concerned gaze with a blank look that was – as Luke had been taught by several Imperial defectors – the military version of wide-eyed innocence. "Lord Vader is perfectly aware of the Lady's capabilities and functions. Evidently, he has never felt the need to instil any restrictions on her, in this regard. And who am I to assume that His Majesty does not have the same superior level of knowledge ...?"

With the young rebel temporarily at a loss for words, Piett quirked his lips again, gave the younger man a short nod of farewell and departed for good.

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Still somewhat off-balance, Luke finally returned to his quarters to fetch his assigned shadow – there was no need to provoke his father before the tricky topic was even broached.

It went beyond scary, though, to see the younger Veers watch his entrance with an expression similar to the one, Veers senior had adopted, upon realizing that he was up against the Emperor himself.

W_ell, there was a fifty-fifty chance for Lord Vader entering that door, next, what did you expect?! _the nasty little voice provided.

The cold glare that followed it, was unsettlingly familiar, too.

"I'm sorry!" the young Jedi held up his hands in supplication, "I'm truly sorry, but I was going stir-crazy in here and you know as well as I do, how people react when they see me, out there, and I can keep people from noticing me, but only me."

The young Imperial was having none of it. "And what, pray, would have been so bad if people noticed _me_? I work here, you know?"

"Yeah, as my aide! I needed them to talk about me, they wouldn't have done that, in your presence."

The unimpressed look was probably a maternal heritage, but given another twenty years or so to hone it, it would be more than a match for that of the elder Veers.

"You went on a spying mission and didn't want me along," Lt. Veers summed up succinctly. "I should have known – you're still part of the Alliance, after all, you said so loud and clear."

_And that little detail put them on opposing sides of a **war!**_ the bitter tone reminded.

Luke threw up his hands in frustration. "Can we not go into _that_, right now? I just reached something like a cease-fire with one Veers, I don't need to start up all over again with another!"

Said other Veers got right in his face, faster than anyone without the Force should have managed – and damn, he might not have his father's bulk (yet), but he certainly did have the height.

"How?!" the young Imperial hissed, "What did you do to m…"

Thoroughly fed up, with being under general suspicion of bending people's minds out of shape, whenever the mood struck him, Luke shoved the other man back, with just a hint of Force behind it, to make up for the fact that genetics' roulette had left him holding the – literally – short stick, compared to everyone else.

"I talked! I asked a few questions, gave a few answers and, in the end, we realized, we had a common enemy and decided to join forces. That's all!"

The younger Veers had only a fraction of the elder's shields and self-control, but the wild feelings he projected, were a mirror-match to his sire's.

The young Jedi hastily pushed down the resultant jealousy. "And by the way, his reaction, to me turning up without you, was exactly the same as yours, just now. So we can pretty much say with certainty: he _does_ care."

There should have been an audible _thud_, the way the lieutenant's jaw dropped.

* * *

Happy Easter, to all of you following the same calendar.


	8. Detour

Seeing how he had no way to ascertain that the ship's … _sense of discretion_ had followed him home, Luke had to cut off the resultant hail of questions with a vague gesture at the walls and a curt "I'll explain later."

There was something deeply disconcerting about the speed with which the young Imperial caught his meaning – _just how much surveillance did the average servant of the Empire consider normal?!_

Not his problem, the young rebel decided quickly and smoothly changed the topic.

In preparation to the preferred – _No, _Luke resolved,_ the **only acceptable** outcome of the meeting that evening, _whether he could make his father see his point would either make or break their relationship! – the young Jedi had come up with some productive way to pass the time until then.

It rekindled some wariness, but in the end he managed to convince the younger Veers that, _really_, by going for his X-Wing Luke only meant to reassure himself that his droid friend hadn't been damaged in the capture and not to make an escape attempt.

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Locating the droid in question, however, turned out to be not as easy as the young rebel had hoped. His X-wing was gone from the hangar, it had been towed into.

A living creature Luke might have located through the Force; a metal construct, no matter how much of a personality it had developed, was far harder to find, especially in an environment as teeming with technology as the SSD _Executor_'s hangar bays.

The young Jedi nearly swore aloud. Instead, he purposefully strode over to the nearest mechanic – who took one look at his face and went pale. A few steps further, a hydrospanner clattered to the floor and fear spread through the hangar, like ripples in a pond, thick and sickening.

Luke felt like screaming in frustration. He had no idea how his father could stand this, dragging a heavy shroud of terror with him, wherever he went.

An unexpected hand on his shoulder steadied him.

"Allow me," Lt. Veers asked earnestly, then stepped forward, putting himself between the frightened techs and the frustrated rebel, incidentally, and started to bark out questions.

His voice was sharp and authoritative, causing the mechanics to stiffen to attention, reflexively; but nonetheless, the young Jedi felt the men slowly relax, internally. Impatient officers they were used to; it was the ill-tempered Sithlords – and their aggravated offspring – that they were afraid to deal with.

The senior tech chief, they were eventually relayed to, was short, stocky with the first hints of a beginning paunch, his steel-grey hair shorn close to the skull and hands marred with the myriad of tiny scars, resulting from a lifetime spent amidst broken parts, sharp-edged tools, corrosive fuels and generally hot surfaces. He eyed Luke with a bit of wariness but no outright fear which was a _pleasant _change compared to the previous reactions.

"Sorry, m'lahd," he said – and the young Jedi wasn't quite sure if the older man had just called him _'milord'_ or _'my lad'_, thick as the accent was – "but his lordship ordered a complete overhaul of the 'wing.

'Tis only sensible," he went on to explain, when Luke's face failed to hide the angry disappointment he felt, at the underhanded trick his father had used to hinder his possible escape, "after a hit like that, there's bound to be plenty of fried parts.

Packs quite the punch, the _Lady _does," the mechanic continued, patting a support beam with all but paternal pride. "But don't ya worry about ya li'l 'mech: he's in the very best hands there are."

He looked almost offended when the young rebel didn't immediately catch his meaning. "Was his lordship that took him along, he's got a talent with mechanics like ya wouldn't believe it."

Luke _did_ have a hard time believing it – he knew perfectly well how messy repair work could get and couldn't really picture the Sithlord, with his flowing cape and gleaming armor, unbend enough to dirty himself that way; but, on the other hand ... _That_ was a skill, he didn't mind inheriting.

With a weary sigh, he asked for directions to whatever workshop his father might have squirreled away his astromech to. The question earned him a _very_ long look.

"Ah hell," the tech chief finally grumbled, "might as well show ya the way."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

R2-D2 gleamed.

Or maybe _glared_ would have been the more appropriate term. The blue-white surface shone with the glint of a freshly-applied oil bath, but more importantly, the moment the young Jedi stepped into the room, the astromech exploded into a rapid-fire stream of hoots and whistles that left no doubt about his mood.

The old mechanic looked caught between awe, mortification and laughter. Obviously, he could understand at least the better part of the little droid's tirade.

"Now, now," he said soothingly, "there's no call f…" R2 extended his arc-welding tool, tip sparking ominously, and the older man wisely stepped back.

"Ah, well, ya found him," the tech chief gave Luke a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave ya to it, then, m'lahd."

Lt. Veers, sensibly stationed right next to the door, had the good manners to wait until the older man was out of the room, before he broke down sniggering.

"Whoa, what a reaming-out! I've seen drill sergeants go easier on people," he got out with difficulty, "what have you done to the little guy?"

The droid's top dome swiveled towards the young Imperial. It spat a nasty sounding string of shrill beeps.

The lieutenant spread his hands disarmingly. "Not my fault, in any way, sort or shape."

The beeps gained a few intermediate whistles and an amazingly accurate rendition of a rude gesture for a construct with only very limited articulation of the joints. The younger Veers laughed aloud.

"I can understand why you would want to keep that one, Skywalker," he said, afterwards. "Is it that spirited in battle, too?"

"You have no idea," the young Jedi muttered. "Artoo, look, we all had a long and trying day, and I won't pretend to know what it feels like to reboot after an ion shot – like the hangover from hell, I suppose – but I just wanted to make sure, you are okay. You are, aren't you? I mean …"

"I assure you, he is in top condition," a deep mechanic voice interrupted.

R2 shrieked. Luke would later blame his flinch on that sound, _not _the previous one.

He took a deep, calming breath. "Ah, … good. I mean, … thank you. Thank you, for taking care of him."

An astonished silence spread.

"You are welcome, Son," Lord Vader rumbled at long last, vocoder devoid of any emotion, but the black flames, for once, felt almost warm.

Peripherally, the young rebel was aware of the sound of Lt. Veers gulping air when the young Imperial behind him restarted breathing. For the main part, however, a once-lonely child wanted to bask in the elusive affection.

"What exactly was wrong with Artoo?" he all but babbled, "The tech chief mentioned something about fried components but he wasn't specific, and so far, ion shots was something that only happened to other people, when I was around .…" Luke grinned ruefully.

"Mere surface damage. As all astromechs, the R2 series was built deliberately rugged – sheer negligence has done worse, over time. Tell me, Son, what was the last time you serviced his booster jets?"

"Ah, … booster jets?"

A deep, mechanized sigh was almost drowned out by the astromech's derisive splat. The small droid waddled closer, placing himself in front of his young master proprietorially, but on the way he thumped his manipulator tool against the Sithlord's armored shin almost affectionately.

"Yes, booster jets," said Sithlord went on to explain, "they won't support sustained autonomous flight but for short distances …."

And, just like that, they were talking droid mechanics, in an amiable air.

* * *

A/N: Special mention goes to _Hoplite39_ for suggesting a reunion between Ani + R2 and to _JannaKalderash_ for inspiring the hung-over, ill-tempered astromech.

A/N 2: I honestly meant to have the looming _'lets inform the Sithlord he's been played for a fool and see how he reacts'_ conversation here, but then my muse got sidetracked – hence the chapter title. Poor Luke was so worked up on _'it's going to be bad, but it won't happen 'til evening, and then I'll have some substantial back-up',_ too, that a non-confrontational Vader completely blindsided him.

Big confrontation next time, I promise … ;)


	9. Meeting

The technical conversation had gone so well that it felt quite natural for Luke to fall in with his father, when the latter redirected his steps towards the Bridge or, more exactly, the nearby tactical presentation room, reserved for the admiral's personal use.

The mood held until the Sithlord stepped into the room to find a grimly determined general, uniform back to parade standards, waiting next to the tense admiral and Luke felt the – by now familiar – wash of static run over him.

The young Jedi almost backed into the lieutenant behind him when the black flames roared back into an icy inferno.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the vocoder hissed.

Almost, but he didn't, seeing how the icy flames had instantaneously wrapped themselves around their wielder's son in a near solid wall of _fury-fear-protection,_ that Luke wasn't even sure he _could_ have stepped through.

It was the _protection_ part, though, that made the young man reach for a black-armored shoulder, tentatively.

"Father, wait. This was my idea," – which was a bald-faced lie, from all but a certain point-of-view, so the young Jedi amended sheepishly, "Well, at least, I started it. Please, Father, you must hear us out!"

It wasn't until he heard someone draw in breath, sharply, that Luke realized that he had just used _us_ in a way that included several high-ranking Imperials.

The black helmet tilted inquiringly, even though the Sithlord still kept the bulk of his body between the senior officers and his son.

"I am listening," the mechanic baritone rumbled.

"Ah, right. Say, who exactly made Lt. Veers my aide?"

"I did." _Sarcasm shouldn't sound that ominous, and how come that the vocoder has no problems with relaying _that _particular sentiment?!_

But sarcasm he could work with, was used to, even: Leia, for example, …. The young Jedi hurriedly forced his mind on another track.

"Let me rephrase that: Who came up with the idea that I would ever need or want one? And who made sure that there was one name that would certainly catch your eye on the shortlist of candidates?"

"I don't…" Lord Vader petered off. With a couple of ground-eating steps, he was halfway between the senior officers and his son, half-turned to face all three of them.

"What is the meaning of this?" he repeated softly, but Luke wouldn't have needed the Force to sense the danger dripping from the deep mechanic voice.

"It's a setup, milord," Gen. Veers said, voice and stance resolute.

"Not by us!" the young Jedi hastened to throw in, ignoring the plural pronoun and its unsettling implications, again. "_For _us – all of us, really."

He drew a deep steadying breath.

"_Us_," Luke repeated. "Father, please, look – really look! – at the situation at hand, for a second. This is actually the least likely outcome I could come up with. I bet" – _I hope, I truly, _truly_ hope!_ – "it wasn't _the foreseen one_, either."

The ventilator hissed but otherwise the Sithlord stayed immobile like his own obsidian statue.

"Go on," he growled after an endless moment.

The young rebel released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Alright, _Scenario One_: I run, the lieutenant is dead, you lose your general – one way or the other – and seriously damage your own power base in the military in the process; you are left holding nothing but ashes and I would never, ever forgive you for forcing my hand like that – nor myself, probably. Bet, he was hoping that the deliberate blood-on-my-hands-by-implication would drive me dark, eventually.

_Two:_ I don't run, but hate you from the bottom of my heart for the leverage you've put on me – and hate is a straight road to the dark side, isn't it? Except that I wouldn't join_ you_, but _him_, in retaliation. Plus, I'd expect at least some, uh, alienation from anyone else involved in this _'leverage'_ scheme.

_Three:_ the distraction actually works and I decide that not all Imperials are monsters and perhaps I should give the whole thing a chance and stay voluntarily. Least damaging to you in the short term, but with me being who and what I am, it would provide an easy rallying point against you, for all kinds of people."

_And hadn't that been a chilling moment_, when Piett had pointed out that particular pitfall, near-pity on his voice for Luke's naivety. It wasn't that he was a rebel – a bit of a misspent youth was all but expected from a man in his position, and while joining the Alliance was certainly extreme, in the light of who his father was, it would have been grudgingly overlooked as a youthful indiscretion; it wasn't even the sheer amount of blood on his hands (well, that too, but it was other people who concerned themselves with _that_[1]). No, it was the fact that in destroying the Death Star, he had caught himself a blood feud with more than half of the most influential families among Imperial nobility – families who had lived in perpetual animosity with each other for most of the age of the Old Republic, but now that all of them were affected … there was nothing quite as unifying as a common enemy.

_And that wasn't even taking into account how his friends and comrades in the Alliance would react …._ With effort, the young Jedi kept his voice even and continued his list with barely a pause for breath.

"And, of course, it's still a tremendous coup against the Alliance and that way he can try to draw me in at leisure. For the Emperor, it's a win-win-win situation!"

The gleaming helmet tilted fractionally towards Luke, regarding him carefully, then turned towards his officers.

"And you concur?"

The general was on the verge of reply but Piett beat him to it.

The admiral nodded, pale but firm-voiced. "Yes, milord. There are several further variants, of course: for example, your son might make his escape and take the lieutenant with him, with or without the latter's consent, in which case your reaction would most likely result in the general's death. But overall, the outcome remains the same."

There was another moment of perfect stillness, even the black flames withdrawing, collapsing in on themselves.

Then the oddest feeling assaulted Luke's senses: the Force itself seemed to … tremble. The young Jedi had a split-second of forewarning, a mind's eye vision of the black flames erupting like a star gone supernova, before a barrage of raw power slammed into him.

Luke went over backwards, hit the wall at the back of the room with concussive force, and slid down into a heap on the floor; once he'd blinked the stars out of his vision, he found the floor beneath the back wall littered with stunned Imperials that had hit the wall without the marginal protection offered by a reflexive grab for the Force. Near the center of the room, his father was still standing immobile, the sole unmoving point within a maelstrom of fragmenting equipment.

For a too long second, the young Jedi simple stared, transfixed: he had felt his father's temper flare at the mention of his previous identity; he had even met a brief bout of anger when he'd scored a lucky hit against the Sithlord's shoulder on Bespin – an experience that had cost the young rebel his hand. But if he'd thought, he knew the depth of his sire's fury, he'd been sorely mistaken!

Then a groan of tortured metal drew Luke's attention to the large panoramic window behind the Sithlord: as the young rebel watched, in dazed astonishment, warship-rated transparisteel, thicker than his arm was long, warped, developed a spider web of cracks and finally gave way with the whoosh of decompressing air. Gale-strength winds tore at the young Jedi for a moment before automatic blast shields fell into place – and promptly started to warp, too.

The ship screamed.

* * *

[1] Of course Luke had known, intellectually, that his first, Force-guided mission had destroyed millions of lives, directly or indirectly. But that number had always stood in juxtaposition with the much larger devastation the Death Star had or would have wrought, never on its own. Not until the young Jedi had looked into the general's cold, hard eyes as the latter had said, flatly: _Thirty years in the service and I don't think I've managed to rake up the tally you reached with your first shot, boy. I'm not even sure your father can top you – or if there's anyone alive, who can. And yet they call _me_ Butcher…_

* * *

A/N: I was tempted, oh so tempted, to have Gen. Veers say: _It's a trap_. But then I didn't have the heart to steal from an overgrown guppy… ;)


	10. Recollection

Warning: Palpatine-style manipulation and the resultant disturbing imagery.

* * *

Some time afterwards, Luke would seriously wonder just how much damage the wall had done to his brain, on impact.

For now, he simple added his own voice to a cry that manifestly went beyond the mere shriek of overstressed material.

"No," the young Jedi echoed, and added his own plea to the endlessly repeated monosyllable. "Father, please, no!"

For endless seconds, he seemed to be equally unsuccessful in drawing the Sithlord's attention, but then the whirling maelstrom collapsed.

Luke nearly did the same, slumping back against the wall in relief, and tried to will his pulse down from racing without reaching for the Force – the last thing needed now was further fuel for the flames.

A heavy silence fell, disturbed only by the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator – and a faint but ominous, continuous hiss of air escaping through some small, for now manageable fissure. The lighting in the room was down to some self-luminous emergency panels, most of them strewn hazardously across the room. They cast a weird bluish glow across black armor and groaning bodies.

It felt much longer, but Luke would guess later on that it had been less than half a minute before someone, somewhere to the young Jedi's left, pushed himself into a half-sitting position, wiped at the dark stains on his face and whispered hoarsely, tone as rattled as Luke had felt, bouncing off the wall, "What the hell was that?!"

Piett – the young rebel was pretty sure it was the admiral – gave back softly, "Lord Vader doesn't take well to betrayal."

There was an odd sound, ending in a wet cough and then the general – _unmistakably the elder Veers!_ – growled, "Heavens, Piett, cut out the understatement! If that was _'doesn't take well'_, I'd hate to see what happens when he's really upset!"

It was obviously the hysteria, the sheer giddy relief of survival speaking, but Luke felt awfully close to giggling in response to the dry sarcasm. The next words to follow, however, paid put to any sort of amusement he might have felt.

"A babe can be cut from his mother's womb, shortly after her death, and still live," Lord Vader said suddenly, apparently non sequitur.

Luke's confusion – and that of the other occupants of the room – must have been palpable in the Force, for the Sithlord continued, "That is how he explained your existence, Son, in the face of to his previous announcement of your mother's death before your birth – I should have known his lies for what they were, then, at the latest!"

The helmeted head shook in… _disbelief? self-recrimination?_ before continuing. "But he has always been a master manipulator. He put his emphasis on the fact that you must not become a Jedi – a mere formality, at that point, but an effective smoke-screen to hide his poison barb.

He knew, reminding me that Kenobi's lack of understanding for _'attachments'_ would have made him think nothing of desecrating my wife's body, slashing her open to remove a Force-sensitive child and take it away – _away from me!_ – ensured that I was in a … less than forgiving mood, before Bespin."

For a moment, the image rose so vividly in Luke's mind – _or would that have been, in his father's?!_ – that the young rebel went slightly nauseous; for a moment, he could all but _see_ a petite body sprawled across a metal floor, unmistakably female torso bared by carelessly torn clothes and belly gaping wide between the distinct cauterization marks of a lightsaber blade.

Mercifully, he was quickly drawn back to the present by a sharp spike of shock, from more than one person in the room, fierce enough for the young Jedi to feel it even in his current state of preoccupation. Like sparks reaching fuel fumes, the black flames lashed out, too, drawn by the display of emotion – before they were reigned in tightly, compacted into a tumultuous whirl of undecipherable feelings.

"Consequently, my actions up to that point were… short-sighted. Bespin was a mistake, a terrible mistake – as the Emperor was very pleased to point out, afterwards. His alternative suggestions seemed reasonable, at the time …"

There were so many things, Luke wanted to ask about – _no, wanted to demand explanations about!_ – but here and now was neither the time nor the place for that.

He settled for the one thing he _needed_ to know: "So _the Emperor_ told you my mother was dead? Was he the only source for that information?!"

For an endless instant, the black flames roiled worse than ever, on the edge of another devastating explosion.

"No," the deep mechanic voice was heavy with finality. "When I heard about her death, I reached for her – and I had always been able to find her, before – but she was gone. And later I did see her body and it was genuine – not a clone, nor any other sort of fabrication."

That hurt, with a bone-deep biting ache, even if it shouldn't have. And even as he mourned a woman he had never consciously met, the young Jedi recognized a resonant pain, fueling the black flames with wild abandon.

_Perhaps, if that pain could be eased, the icy darkness would lighten?_ "What exactly did he tell you, about the circumstances of her death?"

"That I had killed her, in my anger."

"That is a lie!" Luke had never been more certain, the Force had never been clearer on a fact than this.

Black gauntlets fisted in barely controlled anger. "I know. I know that now!"

Peripherally, the young rebel could hear the general start to curse softly under his breath, in at least six different languages – perhaps not the wisest course, to draw attention to his continued presence in the Sithlord's current mood, but apparently there was a breaking point even to the elder Veers' stoic mask.

_Husband. Father. Widower_, Luke remembered belatedly – if anyone in the room could empathize with his father's feelings, it would be the tall general.

Even so, the sentiment was apparently shared by others in and around the gathered group, too. The holo-projector, which as the center piece of the conference table was one of the few pieces of equipment still more or less in place in the room, came to life and projected a somewhat fuzzy, but nonetheless readable display. Again, Coruscant wheeled around its sun en miniature, before the zoom-in jumped to a continent, then a large, sprawling building complex and finally the upper part of a tall spire. Vaguely familiar looking strings of numerals swirled around the highlighted position.

There was something profoundly disconcerting about nineteen kilometers worth of death and destruction behaving like an upset puppy, trying to appease its master by offering a favorite toy, but that was the picture that rose, unbidden, in Luke's mind.

His father seemed to receive a similar impression – and appreciate the crude but sincere show of sympathy. There was a weird sound – some expression of emotion, mangled by the vocoder, the young Jedi assumed – and the worst of the boiling rage bled away, before the Sithlord tilted his head slightly upwards, and said, "Thank you, Lady, but exact firing solutions for the Emperor's current position will not be necessary, at present."

"Girl got the right idea, though; it's just the execution that needs some polishing," came a low but vicious rumble from the sidelines.

"Indeed," Piett started, voice soft but determined. "As this is a long-term trap, it will take a little patience to …"

"… spring it properly," Lord Vader cut in.

By the look in the admiral's eyes, that had been not the originally intended conclusion of the sentence, but the smaller man wisely kept his silence while the gleaming helmet turned towards the young Jedi.

"It's a tried and true method for dealing with traps," the Sithlord continued – and for a timeless moment, the young rebel had the oddest sensation of a boyish smirk hiding behind the armor-mask.

Piett would have considered alternative strategies, first, if Luke read the older man correctly, but then the admiral's eyes flicked from father to son and back and something seemed to occur to him. Thin lips quirked into a dangerous sort of smile.

"Quite right, milord," Piett agreed, with a scarily smug tone of conviction.

And that, the young rebel decided, was the sound of the Emperor's plan imploding, even more spectacularly than Luke had hoped for.

Provided, of course, that the future would stay for once as clouded as Master Yoda had always pronounced it to be, to the ancient Sith.

* * *

A/N: I honestly didn't mean for the _Lady_ to take up a speaking role. She just sneaked up on me – for a ship the size of Manhattan, she's disturbingly good at that ….


	11. Gambit

As if summoned by the thought, the holo-display chose this exact moment to switch to another scene, that of a grey-clad officer bowing low before a tiny blue figure.

"Of course, Your Majesty. Lord Vader will be informed immediately," the uniformed man said.

At his son's momentary spike of panic at the uncanny timing, the resident Sithlord shook his head. "Given my earlier outbreak, an urgent summons from the Emperor was to be expected."

A minimal pause and Luke could all but see the smirk again, even wider now but less boyish, more predatory. "He likes to meditate for some time before dinner – for someone immersed deeply into the Force, the reverberations of my anger should have been quite impressive, even at such a distance. He ought to have resurfaced with a headache the size of Centax-1 …."

"Blame it on me," Luke hurriedly offered, "tell him I'm more bull-headed than a bantha bullock – Uncle Owen would have certainly agreed."

"Uncle Owen …" the deep mechanic voice started but then dismissed the topic with a shake of the head. "There will be time for that, later. For now we must ensure that the Emperor gets to see what he expects – such as a few minutes delay, because people hesitate to disturb me, even bearing His Majesty's orders, in my current mood."

"Captain Kallic has been trying to comm me, for the last three minutes, milord. Without success, obviously," Piett provided quietly. "I expect he is on his way, here, now."

Obligingly, the display jumped to a schematic of the command tower, and a human lifesign moving along a projected line.

"No doubt he is wondering if it shouldn't be _Admiral _Kallic, by now," Lord Vader went on – and the predatory smirk was generally audible now, if the current admiral's uncomfortable shift of weight was anything to go by. "But that would be an overly extravagant conciliating gesture."

"Nonetheless, milord, a proper Corellian gambit needs a sham sacrifice; and since His Majesty is already gunning for me – most honest compliment I ever got from a politician – I propose we take him up on the suggestion …"

One arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage – the two senior officers had been standing closer to the back wall, meaning less space to build up momentum, but still, the impact couldn't have done already cracked ribs any good – the general used the free hand to gesture down himself.

Beside the young Jedi, Lt. Veers gave a start but stayed silent; Luke sincerely hoped that meant the other man had understood the holochess analogy better than him – the young rebel knew the basic rules, but usually found better things to do with his spare time (_such as it was_).

The gleaming helmet tilted to give the older Veers a long considering look. "Agreed."

A black gauntlet gestured. "_Sleep!"_

Abruptly, the general went limp but stayed upright, dangling like a grotesque puppet in the invisible grip for a moment, before he was smoothly set back against the wall.

Then the Sithlord turned towards the admiral. "Emphasize the severity of his injuries, Admiral, let no one not explicitly trustworthy get near him and use only droids for treatment – the Lady will know how to ensure their discretion."

Lastly, Lord Vader addressed the two youngest men in the room. "It would be best if you weren't seen, at all. I expect you will be able to achieve this, Son?"

Luke swallowed nervously.

"I…" _Do or do not, there is no try!_ a sharp memory provided. "…yes. I can keep us below notice, Father."

Maybe he could have phrased that a little bit more positively, the young Jedi decided afterwards, but despite – or perhaps _because of_ – the gaffe, he could have sworn the boyish grin was back, behind the mask.

On the holo-screen, the blinking light went through the last few steps and came to a stop in front of the room. A few seconds later, the door opener reacted.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

For a man so evidently terrified, the _Lady_'s current Captain seemed … competent. After relaying the Emperor's message and jumping out of the way when the Sithlord pushed past him, black cape flaring with the impetus of his passage, Cpt. Kallic exchanged a long look and a tense nod with Adm. Piett and called in the largish team he'd summoned to wait in a discrete distance.

Lurking in a rubble-free corner near the door, with the younger Veers hovering right next to his shoulder and projecting _'nothing to see here, move along'_ in a way that lit him up like Empire Day to anyone Force-sensitive, but kept the rest of the populace walking past Luke and his shadow without even a first, let alone a second glance, the young Jedi had little other choice but to watch the proceedings.

Some of the men were wearing full space gear, the young rebel noticed with interest – and promptly berated himself for being so slow on the uptake: even if the ship venting atmosphere would not have triggered general alarms, the Bridge was merely two decks above them, the initial decompression had to have been visible from there.

Luke swallowed, a bit queasy. He had seen enough ships take breaching damage in battle, severe enough to start hemorrhaging atmosphere. Close up, air moisture, flash-frozen upon contact with hard vacuum, trailed in glittering veils after the injured ships… No wonder, the Captain had been frantically trying to reach his admiral, minutes before the call from Coruscant had come in.

The sound of Piett issuing his orders concerning the general to the medical team, pulled the young Jedi back to the presence.

"Do not move him until you have immobilized his back and legs and then only with utmost care – I suspect a spine injury and severe fractures to the pelvic bones, at least. And once you got him to med-deck, let the droids take care of him – only droids, am I clear?"

"Droids, sir?" one of the black-uniformed medics seemed shocked. "But sir, you know the general …"

"I know," Admiral Piett snapped angrily, "that Lord Vader has said _'get him to the droids!'_ And given the mood he's in, I intend to follow that order to the letter – anything else will most probably spell a death sentence, should his lordship find out, understood?!"

Visibly unhappy, the medic acknowledged the order and obeyed.

Taking note of the twitch of a grimace marring his companion's face, Luke waited until the commotion had died down and the two of them had made it out of the room and past the next corner, before he whispered, with a vague gesture behind them, "What was that about?"

The lieutenant shrugged, uneasily. "Droid holding down a disoriented Clone War veteran – generally not a good idea. Most of the senior officers and non-cons – those old enough, at least – really hate the clunkers …"

The young rebel _did_ grimace. On a backwater like Tatooine, a moderately run-down medidroid was your best bet to get competent medical help for situations that went beyond the scope of home remedies; consequently, he'd never thought twice about accepting their aid on the Alliance ships. Dredging up vague memories of past history lessons, though, he thought he could see Veers' point.

As pragmatic as his father's decision had been from a confidentiality point-of-view, to the uninformed it had to appear deliberately cruel.

The Emperor would certainly approve, Luke decided gloomily.

* * *

A/N: Centax-1 is, by my deductions, the largest moon of the planet Coruscant; I reached that conclusion by combining the fact that the largest moon (which Wookiepedia refuses to name!?) was destroyed by the Yuuzhan Vong and that the other three moons were explicitly mentioned to have existed in later eras. I might be wrong – I'm not into the New-Jedi-Order-era-and-beyond EU – so feel free to correct me if you know better.


End file.
